


Routine Moments

by cptsuke



Series: stories from the same routine [7]
Category: The Losers (Comic), The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7600012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>small drabbles & snippets from the Routine timeline</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Roque

**Author's Note:**

> some of these are new, some of these are reposts from LJ

Roque didn't expect to find himself liking Jensen.  
  
At best, he figured for toleration, because he was nothing if not a tolerating motherfucker - there had to be a reason that all his past CO's still had their heads.  
  
But yeah - the liking.  
  
He kind of knew he'd like Pooch, the guy was a nice, reliable and knew how to handle himself, even if he didn't make a big deal about it.  
  
Cougar was quiet and deadly and could kill a man in a surprising number of ways. Which had been long joked (quietly, out of earshot of Roque himself) were on Roque's list of top turn ons. Plus, when he really put his mind to it Cougar was a creative bastard.  
  
Clay, Roque had known in passing, had done the occasional op with. Aside from his alarming taste in women, he was cool, calm, collected and not afraid to get dirty of it meant the job was done right.  
  
Then Jensen comes in. Just six months out of Selection and already has more write ups and dress downs than Roque - and Roque's file made for some pretty fucking interesting reading.  
  
He seems too young to be in the army, let alone in SpecOps,  
  
He's loud, both in words and clothing - if Roque never saw another bright red shirt or stupidly shaped pair of sunglasses again it'd be too soon.  
  
He doesn't know when to shut up and generally thought everything was a source of amusement.  
  
All of this should annoy the hell out of him - and it does - but where his knife fighting skills lack he makes up for it by being a sneaky motherfucker.  
  
Roque appreciates someone who can lie, cheat and steal with a straight face.  



	2. Jensen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jensen & the prius

Jensen is coming to the rescue.

Jensen is coming to the rescue in a fucking  _Prius_.

Its almost enough to make him demand his carjackee pull over and find a better TO THE RESCUE! car. 

He may or may not be in need of some sort of medical medic medicine.

As it is his carjackee is already eyeing him like he's a mad man. 

Jensen flicks down the visor and gets his first good glimpse of his face.  And. Yes. Okay. He looks like a madman. He's got an honest to god blackface going on; blood, black snot and tears from the smoke have left smudgey pale lines down his face - He looks a fucking mess. 

Honestly this lady stopping for him is the biggest surprise here. 

He is going to have the best police sketch _ever_.

Jensen flicks the visor back up - ignores his burning, still watering eyes and the way his throat and lungs feel coated in soot - and checks his little monitor.   
Still on the right track. Almost there.

"Turn down this street up here." He motions towards it, M4 bumping against the dash. 

_Of course_  there wouldn't be enough room in the front seat for him and it - he feels like a fucking tetris piece jammed up in his seat.

The lady eyes the gun, face paling, and Jensen finds himself wistfully thinking of Algeria, or Serbia, or fuck, even fucking _Afghanistan_.   Fucking anywhere where you can tote an automatic around without some guy wailing hysterically about how many children they may or may not have depending on them.  

And that there is probably not a good sign, mental ways. 

"Pull up here."

Jensen should really be sitting down somewhere comfy. Getting high on lots and lots of very pure oxygen.

He cracks the door open and looks over at his petrified carjackee.

"Not that it helps, but thanks, you probably want to flee in a pretty brisk manner now."

He still has one foot in when the lady stomps on the gas and drives off, the quiet whirr of the engine completely ruining any chance of it being bad ass. 

Jensen straightens, watches the tail lights disappear and turns toward the warehouse where his little GPS-dot-team are currently abiding.

Its a fucking _warehouse._ He doesn't know what shape the guys are in, doesn't know how many bad guys are standing over them, but Jensen refuses to let the team go down in such a cliche motherfucking place.

Maybe he should have kept the car.

No. 

There is no way any of the guys ever have to know that Jensen rode to the rescue in a fucking Prius.


	3. Jensen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jensen joins the team

Jensen joins a new team.

And it’s all very swanky. There’s a growly ell-tee colonel, a silent frown-y captain and a stare-y super intense sniper. Oh, and there’s an absentee driver-man, but apparently the guy’s leg is shattered so, you know, not playing in the sandbox right now.

 

Now Jensen is awkward and shy around new people – it’s fucking natural okay – and he has been told – rarely! From time to time! – that he has a personality that makes a mother want to smother her babies. But for the most part he’s pretty awesome. And sometimes he’s all-out LASO, mother-fucking bad-ass awesome.

And that’s his plan right? Be so awesome that he doesn’t get dropped again; waiting until the next dodgy-ass black ops team deigns to pick him up – it won’t be the first time but there isn’t that fucking many teams left out there and Jensen’s fairly sure that whatever is waiting at the end of his rope is probably not a fun, character building experience.

So yeah. He was all up in his plan’s face; being awesome and trying very hard to keep himself a little bit mainstream-y. 

(a little because, let’s face it, ‘Jensen’ and ‘mainstream’ are very nearly mutually exclusive)

Clay, Jensen gets along with fine. He’s got an unfortunate taste in women and an unhealthy relationship with his second in command but - in his favor - Clay’s also a grumpy, no nonsense bastard. While he pushes them hard, he pushes himself just as hard. Jensen appreciates that in a CO.

And Roque. Well. Jensen was wary as fuck about Roque. The guy was a walking weapon cache with serious anger management problems. So Jensen put up his mental HAZARD AHEAD signs and tried really _really_ hard to remember them. Only. Roque - while being all kinds of an asshole - is also kind of fucking hilarious. And _fun_.

Who else is gonna joke around with Jensen when bullets are flying and Jensen’s corpse -slash-bullet-blocker loses its arm due to the excessive amount of lead in the air?

Cougar is pretty awesome. Unlike Roque – whose sense of humor seems to only arrive when the bleakest of bleak situations are upon them (or he’s going to get the chance to perforate someone soon) – Cougar’s actually pretty funny all ‘round. He laughs with all (well _most_ ) of Jensen’s jokes. Hell, sometimes he _improves_ on them. He seems to get that Jensen is a radio with his button jammed on, and just accepts it.

 

Jensen only has one problem with Cougar. Just a slight problem– okay it’s a big problem, a fucking oh-fuck-no-jesus-am-i-really-oh-my-god-you-fucking-fucker-the-sniper-is-not- _that_ -hot – the sniper is hot. And okay, _yes,_ Jensen has worked with hot people before, he’s not some fucking douche who sees something he likes and refuses to see a person through all the boner inducing hotness. And, yeah, the army tends to have a lot of hot people in it – got a uniform kink?

Worst.

Fucking.

Time.

Ever. 

But Cougar is also fucking _nice_. Like disturbingly nice. 

(although, to be honest, Jensen’s not entirely sure that it’s not some sort of fucked up Stockholm-y, everyone-else-is-kind-of-an-utter-fucking-cock sort of thing)

But even if he cuts the apparent niceness out, then Cougar is still the one that Jensen gets along with the most. When the guy isn’t staring at Jensen with that mysterious fucking look, he actually gets Jensen’s warped sense of humor; grinning his sly motherfucking little grin and fucking bantering back and forth like they’ve spent years learning each other’s ways.

 

It’s a little fucking ridiculous because as far as Jensen can tell Cougar is made of many, _many_ very heterosexual emotions. Like the one that has him fucking every female in his fucking eye-sight. No really, it’s past the point where you can just shake your head and call him a dog. Oh no, Cougar has turned it into some creepily efficient, well oiled – pun in-fucking-tended – machine.

The women. They come to _him_. Despite the fact that they’ve been stationed in this tiny ass town with only a very specifically small number of women, he still manages to get laid with different women every time he goes out.

 

(Jensen may or may not have a score table and the beginnings of a graph.)

 

But yeah. Cougar? Very into the whole sex-with-women thing.

But still, when Jensen’s sitting in an ass freezingly, oxymoronic hotbox – really, _really_ fucking regretting his life’s choices – and Cougar taps out a morse-message of hey-how-you-doin? Well fuck, how is Jensen supposed to not fall totally in fucking lust with that? He’s in a fricken’ vulnerable position! He’s all like being taken advantage of and stuff!

There is definitely UST between him and the sniper.

It’d be adorable if it wasn’t so goddamned inconvenient.

And yet - see, as far as Jensen’s concerned, this was mostly Roque’s fault – they go drinking, right? One minute Jensen’s all drink-for-drink-ing with Roque and his annoyingly sober face and the next it’s just him and Cougar getting shitfaced while Roque and some daisy-duke-clad chick all but consummate their new found friendship on the bar.

And Jensen swears he knows the way back to the base – which, in all fairness, he might – but Cougar’s the fucker – the drunk, drunk, _drunk_ fucker – that’s all like _sure, you can take me anywhere._

So the whole making out in the alley was not really Jensen’s fault at all. It’s Roque’s. And Cougar’s. And maybe Clay’s too.

The fact that Cougar actively joined in – damn, Jensen’s going have those marks for at least a week – is a mindfuck and a half. To be honest Jensen was expecting some sort of violence concentrated in the area of Jensen’s face. But there isn’t, and by god Jensen will always wish that he had been more sober and actually remembered anything beyond Cougar’s mouth on his jaw.

But, what in hell is Jensen exactly supposed to do now?

 

That morning Jensen wakes up on definitely-not-his-bunk with the sun attempting to burn holes through his eyelids and a definite presence pressed up against his back.

He opens his eyes and groans as his retinas protest the sudden horrid brightness. He might’ve liked to further investigate the novelty of being in another guy’s bed on base but right now his head is preoccupied with pulsating pain and the sudden roiling nausea in his guts.

So he opts for the tactically more viable option of retreating to the bathroom to empty his stomach. He’s kind of expecting his partner in crime to be gone by the time he comes back - mouth tasting like dead ass and brain only slightly more online – but the guy – _oh shit, fuck, Cougar?_ – is still lying there. Albeit as stiff as a motherfucking board and looking at Jensen like he’s seen a motherfucking ghost. But he’s still fucking _here_.

This? Right here? This seems like one of them make ‘em or break ‘em type situations.

Jensen _hates_ those situations. He _never_  knows what to do; screwing up delicate balances seems to be his fucking forte and the whole pussy-footing around really clashes with his style.

But what the fuck, right? You only live once and all that. If there’s one thing Jensen’s learnt from the army, it’s take the initiative, and Jensen’s _all_ about that shit.

So he drops back into the bunk (a feat Jensen’s pretty sure requires the highest of skill; considering the tiny, tiny size of the bed) and decides not to give a fuck.

(and steal a pillow)

Besides, it’s not like Cougar’s going to kill someone in his own bunk.

Right?

 

 

 

Jensen likes Pooch almost straight away. Which is a bit of shame really because Pooch takes an almost instant dislike to Jensen.

In Pooch’s defense, Jensen _was_  really annoying.

(But, in Jensen’s, he had a really fucking good reason.)

Jensen’s job is easy; just sweet talk a computer and get all its dirty secrets. Only suddenly – while Jensen’s all brains-deep in hard drive – there’s the mysterious-where-the-fuck-is-it? safe room opening up behind them and a guy with a gun.

Jensen’s still not sure how it all went down - brains deep, hard drive, _really_ > sweet encryption software - but it ends with a hole in his baby laptop, Pooch snapping the neck of the guy in a totally bad ass way and them all trapped in a safe room with an argumentative lock.

The following three days suck so much ass that Jensen does not even have the words to describe how ass-sucking those days were. And yeah Jensen feels bad for yelling at Pooch to shut up ( _SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!_ ) but he fucking dares anyone else to screenlessly hack a masterly protected – no shit, this thing had better security than Jensen’s army laptop had when it was first given to him – safe-room door.

It wasn’t that Pooch talked all that much, or that Jensen wasn’t saying a word – Jensen knows himself pretty well - he was probably fucking talking a hundred words a second, with most of them likely gibberish – but he has a system for typing without vision – he likes to think he learnt something that time with the flashbang and the completely blind, mostly concussed hacking - and his system requires more of his own noise and less of everyone else’s.

So yeah. Pooch _and_ Jensen get angry and annoyed and on the third day - miracle of fucking miracles – the door opens and they never want to see each other again.

He’ll have to do something to make it up to him. Jensen decides as he flops down on his thin mattress; declaring it loudly to Roque, sitting on his bunk, whisking a blade over a small sharpening stone.

( _We get it,_ _your knife is sharp_ )

He’d rather be scheming with Cougar but the guy hasn’t come back in from the range and _dammit_ Jensen’s mind will have wandered in another direction by then.

Besides there’s a vein on Roque’s temple that pulses when Jensen babbles inanely, and Jensen is inordinately fond of making that happen.

“It’ll have to be something cool.” He says, watching Roque’s head for signs of irritation from the corner of his eye. “Something cooool _._ Like steal a Huey, or, oh _hey_ , Puff The Magic Dragon.”

 Roque actually stops sharpening to give him that you-wouldn’t-fucking-dare look. Which is a stupid look to give someone like Jensen because one; _hey_ , quite hurtful, but - more importantly - two; those looks just seem to make Jensen want to do it even more.

 “Maybe something hot-shit awesome instead. Like one of those tilt-a-rotor thingy. They seem pretty fun.”

Jensen has simu-flown the shit out of one of them and it had seemed pretty awesome. (Of course he had also crashed it into an assortment of buildings and landmarks and somehow found a live volcano in the simulator to bury the plane into, which just seemed unlikely to him.)

 

In the end they end up joyriding in a tank, even Roque joins in on the shenanigans which seems to surprise everyone but Jensen. Why, Jensen’s not sure, Roque’s that kind of guy. A dick most of the time with shining moments of _hell yeah let’s have some fucking fun_. It’s just working out which way he’s gonna go at any given decision, that’s the hard part.

So a tank ride, a certain moment in Germany where Jensen knocked the Poochman out of the path of a bullet intent on killing him and finally – and somehow most importantly – a jerry-rigged-Jensen-Special sat-phone that connects the driver to his missus and finally Pooch and Jensen make – manfully – up.

 Pooch is pretty awesome after that. He’s got Clay’s papa bear mentality without all the colonel’s dickishness. And - on the rare occasion that he shares - Mrs Poochman’s cookies are fucking delicious.

 

The first couple of out of country missions pass in a whirlwind of sand, cookie-stealing, Cougar being stupid, then ridiculously sweet, and pink diamante’s spelling out Roque’s name.  _Yeah_ , Jensen’s pretty sure that payback was fucking genius.

 

Jensen gets shot in a desert city. Everything’s that light sandy brown, bright in the way only dawn is and dust is everywhere. He feels the shot; a dull thudding sensation hitting his flak-jacket in the side, winding him a little, making him stumble but not enough to actually stop him.

 He doesn’t have time to stop and check it, figures from the feel of it that his armors caught it and if he’s lucky his ribs are just really bruised. He’s gonna be pissed if they’re cracked. Cracked ribs are a bitch.

 It’s not until hours later, when Clay’s off having some loud words with a marine officer and Pooch and Roque are taking a breather beside him as they wait for Cougar to catch up, that Jensen rubs at his side, groaning at the stiffness that’s settling in now the adrenaline is wearing off.

Then he kinda blanks out. Only for a moment. Like a wave. Standing around shooting the shit one moment, in Roque's arms the next.

 "What the fuck?" He asks no one in particular because he doesn't want to know.

Roque says something about Jensen fainting, but Jensen ignores him because Roque _lies_ , and resumes rubbing his sore side.

His fingers feel all oily and _what the shit?_ Jensen stares at them, then pulls at the velcro fastenings of his flakjacket, trying to get a look at what the fuck is going on down there. The top of his pants are all fucking sticky and damp too.

“What the?” He sighs, because he is definitely shot. “Thanks a lot vest. You useless piece of shit.”

And that’s all he gets out, because Roque’s noticed the fair amount of blood that Jensen’s wearing on his cammies and is now shaking him like Jensen did this on purpose. The day ends well, really, Jensen's _fine_ , no matter how much Roque tries to rattle his brains with all the shaking him while wearing his patented dark gloomy face.

 

All in all, it's still a good day.

 


	4. Roque :one, two & profit?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> three bad pick up lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of this i wrote yesterday, the rest five years ago, can anyone tell which is which?  
> also I have a porn drabble, should i post it?

**One**

Pooch dares him to do it. That's Roque's excuse anyway. They've been in this dreary, raining town for over three weeks and the only entertainment he's had is Jensen getting into a fistfight with some mustached soldier over _his computer_.

They're currently drinking in the one pub in town, one that had both suffered and welcomed the patronage of the US and British soldiers currently camped nearby. It's fairly crowded but Cougar and Jensen have claimed a table in the corner, Jensen's still a little subdued from his fight so the two of them are drinking quietly – well quiet for them - with only the occasional loud laugh and coaster flying off somewhere into the crowd.

When Pooch slides up to him and suggests Roque liven up the evening, he's just about irritable and bored enough to humor him. He narrows in on a lone girl at the bar and shuffles through the stupid pick-up lines he had somehow accumulated.

“I might not be the hottest guy here, but I'm the only one talking to you.”

She blinks, disbelief crossing her face then darkening into something more fun. Roque ends his evening drunk on English beer, with a red handprint across his face and a cackling Pooch to keep him company.

 

 

**Two**

In Moscow Roque says _Если бы вы были проституткой я бы платить хорошие деньги для вас,_ to the girl with sharp smile at the end of the bar. And, well, Roque never finds out if she's had some sort of training, or just has a hell of an arm, but he's being picked up off the floor by a chuckling Jensen before he even realises he's been hit.  
  
Fuck, this is all Jensen's fucking fault anyway. _He's_ the one that said _say this! It'll have her panties off before you can blink!_ with a cheeky grin.  
  
Roque is going to smash the hacker's glasses and abandon him in the shittiest, most fucked up part of town.  
  
"Damn man, did you see the arm on that girl? Holy hell! I am so sorry man, Cougar did that to me last time we were in 'Petersburg. Oh, that girl almost broke my nose, I was in love!" Jensen is entirely too fucking gleeful for a man who has just signed his death warrant with a fucking smiley face.  
  
"Why _the fuck_ would you do that to me?" Because, honestly, Roque might actually kill him.  
  
Jensen grins at him. A shit-eating, I am so fucking amused with myself that I can't see you're sharpening your knives sort of grin.  
  
"I am a bad, bad man."  
  
No, fuck it, he's in Moscow, he has those sort of _friends_ in Moscow - the sort that know how to hide a body - Roque is definitely going to kill Jensen.

 

 

**Profit?**

He walks into the cafe. It's still mostly quiet, people cleaning up from the night before.  
  
A woman with tiny, _t_ _iny_ shorts, long lean legs and unlaced combat boots lounges on a stool, leaning against the counter.  
  
_His_ combat boots.  
  
He says the first thing that comes to mind.  
  
"Nice shoes, wanna fuck?"  
  
She looks at him. It's six am. The night before had not been kind to Roque - the missing boots is perhaps the nicest thing that had happened - he's been kicked out of the bed of a pretty young thing by the pretty young thing's boyfriend and he has spent the last hour retracing his steps, trying to find his boots. (His watch and wallet are lost causes, but _dammit_ Roque likes those boots.)  
  
She smiles.  
  
"Kinda early for you soldier boy."  
  
Roque out-ages her by at least a decade. He leans on the counter beside her anyway.  
  
"You know it's illegal to possess army property that isn't yours. I just might have to arrest you."  
  
She laughs, a happy musical sound that Roque has never heard at six am.  
  
"I guess I'll have to give them back then."  
  
She slips off her stool and is at Roque's sock covered feet before he can blink.  
  
She tightens laces like a fucking pro and, fuck, Roque's morning is already kicking ass.  
  
The she looks up, grins a cheeky grin and stands up; leaning forward so her lips almost touch Roque's ear. With a voice as smooth as coffee and melted chocolate she whispers,  
  
" _Nice boots, wanna fuck_?"

 


End file.
